Each year, the Saturday after Thanksgiving is reserved for Christmas decorating at our house. My husband knows this, mumbles his disapproval, and begrudingly hauls the Christmas decorations upstairs from the basement. This includes our (fake) pre-lit tree parts that he needs to put together, as well as a multitude of storage tubs filled with — according to the resident Grinch – “a bunch of shit that just clutters up the house, that I have to haul back downstairs 7 weeks later”.
This year, we spent our Saturday washing clothes from our trip to we-might-as-well-be-in-Kentucky-for-how-long-we-were-in-a-car-together (otherwise known as my father-in-law’s current home – Charleston, WV). Because of my current lack-of-a-job situation, my husband and I didn’t drop the kids off at the grandparent’s house and get ourselves a hotel room, like we have in years past. And as an extra bonus, it turns out my father-in-law’s wife is now smoking in their house — all four Rices and everything we had with us came home reeking of stale cigarettes.
(If I’m still unemployed at Thanksgiving next year, I’m totally pimping myself out to earn the hotel money. I’ll be the girl near the entrance to the local Denny’s, propositioning horny hungry customers with “Can I interest you in a more satisfying Grand Slam today?”. I’ll be wrapped in tinsel garland so that my husband doesn’t have to drag it back down to the basement between Christmases. Because it will probably take me a whole year of whorin’ out to earn the hotel money.)
So, after a tough Saturday of watching me wash, dry and fold laundry, I casually mentioned to my husband “Do you think you could get the Christmas stuff upstairs so I can start decorating the tree?”
And true to his Grinchian nature, he dragged a bunch of stuff — but not everything — upstairs. And plopped it right in the middle of the family room. And that’s where it has been sitting since Saturday.
Oh. Christmas Tree.
Last night, just before Monday Night Football got underway, I asked if he could put the tree together so that we could decorate it Tuesday night. And he responded with “Well, if you wanted to put the Christmas tree up, why didn’t you just ask me to put it together on Saturday?”
Um…in the dictionary according to Venus, I’m pretty sure “…so I can start decorating the tree.” is synonymous with “please put it together”. But, then, I’m not fluent in Martian.
Learning Martian sucks.
